


Following In His Footsteps

by VacantCanadian



Category: Hetalia Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Excitement, Other, learning, things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5328059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VacantCanadian/pseuds/VacantCanadian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several years into the future, England is at his deathbed. In his last moments, he appoints Sealand as his heir to the throne.</p><p>-rip this fic-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Following In His Footsteps

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Hello once again, audience! Welcome to the first non-slash continuous fic I have ever written on this site! The idea for this fic popped into my head forever ago, I am just now writing it… What can I say? USUK oneshots call. Speaking of USUK, I may as well clear this up: There is a 90% chance that this fic will have none of it, so don’t hold your breath. Unless you feel like dying today, which I don’t really recommend. Anyways, without further ado, SAD FANFIC PROLOGUE! (Oh, and if you like the fic, remember: Kudos and Comments means Matthew hugs AND WHO DOESN’T LOVE THOSE)

England heaved as he lay in his four-poster bed, chest rising and falling rhythmically. Doctors and nurses ran amuck within his bedroom, trying to keep the old kingdom’s heart beating. The Brit’s green eyes searched the room for someone he could pull away from their orders long enough to do for him task he needed done so desperately. He finally spotted a pale nurse with ginger hair falling out of her messy bun in ringlets standing next to his bed. He grabbed her wrist and she anxiously whirled around to face him, startled.

            “Ma’am, please,” he croaked, his voice hoarse with sickness. “I need you to do something for me.”

The nurse hesitated for a half-second, her emerald green eyes staring into his with fear, then replied, “Yes sir, what is it you need?” Her voice rung with thick Scottish tones.

            “I need you to find my brother, Sealand, and bring him to me as quickly as possible. Don’t let him resist-“ England’s sentence was cut off by a hacking cough. The nurse nodded and scampered away.

            Britain closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. _I have to tell him before I’m gone,_ he thought to himself. He focused his hearing on the steady beeping of the heart-rate monitor.

            Suddenly, the door burst open, and America dashed into the room, his sky blue eyes filled with worry as he pushed his way through the sea of medics.

 

            “England, oh my god, you’re alive, I-“

            “Not for much longer,” the Brit declared, using what little strength he had to push himself into a sitting position. “But I’m glad you’re here, America. I need you to-“

            “Dude, how could I not come?” America interrupted. “You raised me, and now you’re dying! Why is this happening?!” The younger nation’s voice caught in his throat and tears began to pool in his eyes and slide down his cheeks.

            “I don’t want you to die.” The blonde boy barely whispered. He bit his lip to keep from sobbing, and clenched his eyes shut, but quickly opened them again at hearing the old kingdom talking unemotionally to him.

            “This is not the time for sentiment, America,” England rasped, his voice flat. “I need you to do something for me when I’m gone.” He gazed up at him with his old green eyes. Eyes that seen two thousand years of happiness, agony, life, death, and everything in between. Eyes that had watched America grow up.

            “Anything,” the American breathed. “Anything at all.”

            “I’m giving the throne to Sealand at my demise. I was planning to give it to you, when you were still a colony, but now that little micro-country’s my only family. But he’s not ready…not yet. He’s still young and irresponsible and he has to learn how to manage a country properly.” The Brit took America’s hand in his and gripped it tightly; the younger nation squeezed back, locking eyes with the old kingdom, whose expression was deadly serious. “I need you to guide him for me. Help him become the powerful country he always wanted to be.” Britain smiled, fondly remembering the brazen and stubborn nature of his ambitious brother.

            “Promise me you’ll help him,” England’s expression hardened and he stared into America’s eyes with as much intensity as he could muster, tightening his hold on the American’s hand. “He can’t do it alone.”

 

            “I promise.” The younger nation nodded solemnly, his face serious.

 

            At that moment, the door burst open, and the Scot nurse trudged in, towing a tiny country in a sailor’s uniform behind her. He looked like a smaller version of England, but with sparkling sky blue eyes like his would-be older brother. The look of childish anger on his face soon faded when he saw his elder brother lying in bed, almost dead. He rushed over to America’s side, gazing at the old kingdom like he was something from outside this world.

 

“Sealand,” A smile played on England’s lips. “My little brother. My stubborn little brother.”

 

“You British jerk of jerks! Why’d you call me here?” Sealand demanded, but his concern for his brother was poorly masked.

 

            Britain got straight to the point. “Because I will soon be dead, and you will be the new United Kingdom.” The dying nation weakly gestured to his former colony. “America will help you learn how to manage our nation; he promised me he would. But I need you to promise me something, too.”

 

Sealand stared at the green-eyed country. “…Yes?”

 

“I need you to…be strong for me.” England’s breath was becoming irregular now, with frequent coughs, and the heart rate monitor was acting up. He didn’t have much time left, and he knew it. “Taking all of this on so suddenly is going to be very hard and very scary. But if you stay strong, and believe in yourself, like you always have, I promise things will turn up. So promise me you won’t give up. Promise me you’ll be brave.”

 

“Like you when you were a pirate?” Sealand asked.

 

The Brit laughed, but it turned into a horrid cough. “Yes, like when I was a pirate. Now, promise?”

 

“Yes.” Sealand stated.

 

Britain gave a lengthy exhale. “Good.” He gazed at his little brother with eyes full of compassion. “…Sealand?”

 

“Yes, England?” Sealand had tears in his eyes, which rolled freely down his cheeks. His brother’s did the same.

 

The old kingdom put his hand on Sealand’s cheek gently.

 

“I love you.”

 

Britain’s hand fell to the bed.

The heart rate monitor let out a long, single beep.

A set of ancient green eyes closed, never to see again.

 


End file.
